


Spiderwebs and Other Necessities

by genteelrebel



Series: The Island Stories [2]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:32:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genteelrebel/pseuds/genteelrebel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos and housework?  Not a good fit.  But some things in life are worth making exceptions for.</p><p>This story takes place in the same universe as my story “The Island”, although it’s set about ten years previously.  You don’t really need to read that one to get this, as it’s very different in tone.  All you need to know is that Duncan and Methos got together after Connor’s death in Endgame, and retreated from the Game to MacLeod’s Island in the Pacific Northwest, where they set up house together in Duncan’s old cabin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spiderwebs and Other Necessities

Spiderwebs are a fact of life. 

This has been true since the dawn of time, and all the world’s advancements in pesticides and cleaning technology hasn’t done a thing to change it. The prevalence of our arachnid brothers and sisters is such that, at any given moment, every human being on the planet is sitting with ten feet of at least fifty spiders, hidden within walls and ceilings and under the leaves of plants. And this is a *good* thing. Spiders are essential to maintaining a balanced biosphere, keeping down the population of less desirable insects…

“Less desirable insects? There are less desirable insects than spiders?”

Methos gave this interruption all the respect it deserved. “You wouldn’t want to live in a world overrun by mosquitoes, now would you?” he said, ignoring Duncan’s incredulous face as he returned to his lecture. How the modern spider had a highly noble lineage, belonging to a scientific order that far predated the earliest appearance of mammalian life. The way that spiders were celebrated in mythology around the world as the bringers of wisdom and technological breakthroughs like weaving and written language. And the amazing fact that mankind had yet to come up with a single fiber that had more tensile strength than spider silk. Not even the most astonishing space-age fabric or rope could compare…

“Right,” Duncan said when Methos had finished, frowning thoughtfully as he looked up at the ceiling. “Thank you, Methos. That was one of the most inspiring speeches I’ve ever heard. Concise, well organized, incredibly thought provoking.” He returned his gaze to Methos and placed his hands upon his hips. “Now tell me again why you didn’t dust the cobwebs off the rafters?”

Methos sighed. 

Wonderful as his lover, mate, and all around light of his Immortal life generally was, there were some things Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod simply wasn’t equipped to understand. And sadly, Methos’s life-long aversion to housework was one of them. The problem, Methos reflected, lay in the fact that Duncan possessed one of the finest sets of muscles the world had ever seen. Duncan’s strength and warrior skill meant that he tended to think like an athlete, for whom picking up a long-armed duster and running it over the rafters once a day was no problem at all. What he didn’t understand was that, unlike himself, Methos could not simply turn off his brain and let his muscles take over whenever he had to perform simple tasks. No, *he* had to be consciously aware of each swipe of the dusting cloth, every stroke of the broom. And the god awful, metronomic, ceaseless repetition of it was the equivalent of Chinese water torture to a mind that craved intellectual stimulation above all other things… 

But it was pointless, really, trying to explain. Duncan would never understand that the hour Methos had spent composing his lecture on arachnid virtues, not to mention the additional hour spent pawing through storage boxes in order to find an old gift that buoyed his point, actually took much less effort than the ten minutes it would have taken to remove the spiderwebs from the rafters in the first place. Instead, he tapped the small frame resting on the edge of the computer desk. 

Duncan’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the frame, reading the words some unknown hand had lovingly cross-stitched under an obscenely cute design of a feather-duster-wielding, apron-wearing spider. “Remember: Every Cobweb is Somebody’s Home,” Duncan read aloud. “Oh. My. God. Where on earth did you get that thing?”

Methos shrugged. “It was in one of those storage boxes I brought from London.”

“The storage boxes out in the barn? The ones you haven’t looked at for more than five years?”

“Those would be the boxes, yes.”

“Uh-huh.” Duncan stared at the frame. “What on earth are you even doing with such a thing in the first place? Cross-stitched homilies aren’t exactly your idea of great decor, Methos.”

“Now, why would you say a thing like that? Cross-stitch is a highly underrated art. And just so you know, I had this particular piece displayed prominently in my London house.” 

“Right. Who gave it to you?”

Damn. Caught. He should have known that Duncan knew him well enough to realize he never would have purchased such a thing for himself. “We-elll…” he said, stringing it out, and when Duncan fixed him with a knowing look, he surrendered. “It was a gift from Joe.”

“I see.” Duncan nodded sagely. “Joe also knew about your moral objections to disturbing arachnid habitats, did he?”

“He may have commented on the surprising abundance of them in my home once or twice, yes.”

“Yes. I imagine he did.” Duncan covered his face with his hands for a moment. When he looked up he was shaking his head sadly. “Methos, if you add up the time you just spent lecturing me with the time you must have spent pawing through boxes to find that thing, you could have cleaned the entire house. Why do you insist on making things so difficult for yourself?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I’m a proponent of other species rights?” Methos protested, and when Duncan simply stared at him incredulously he looked down tiredly. “I simply don’t see the point,” he said. “It’s not like they’re hurting anything up there. I had long talk with all your previous roommates when I first moved in…”

“Previous roommates?”

“You know. The spiders, the mice, all the other little things that like to set up shop when a human being only uses a place a few times a year. We held a council, and a firm agreement was made. As long as they stay away from the important things…”

“Like your computer?”

“And our bed,” Methos replied with a leer. “Anyway, as long as they do that, I will do nothing to interfere with their lives, either.” He shrugged again. “After all, if one of them does wander into our territory and bites us by mistake, we’ll heal. I haven’t seen any reason to break my part of the bargain.”

“No. I don’t imagine you have.” Duncan shook his head sadly, staring at the floor. “Methos,” he said after a few moments, and his voice was simply curious, not sarcastic in the slightest. “Remind me again why I keep you around?”

“I’m incredibly good to look at?”

“I suppose that’s true. At least for the four or five hours a day that you’re not hunched over a computer screen.”

“And you like my cooking.”

“Also true. On those rare occasions that you can actually be bothered to build a fire in the stove. Which happens about…oh, three or four times a year, I think.” He put his hands back on his hips. “Got anything else?”

“I—“ Methos thought. “I give you a reason to get up in the morning, and keep your head on your shoulders for one more day?”

MacLeod’s face softened. “That you do,” he murmured, stepping closer to where Methos was sitting. “And not just for one more day. The week and the month and the decade as well. The century, too.” He placed his hands on Methos's shoulders, caressing them gently. “Immortal life is a lot easier to face now that I know that you’ll be in it. I suppose putting up with the cobwebs is a small price to pay for knowing I’ll have you at my side, keeping me sane and happy, for the next millennium.” 

“Just the next millennium? MacLeod, think big! I intend to keep you around for MUCH longer than that.”

Duncan grinned and gave his shoulders another squeeze. “Until the sun turns cold, old man?”

“Longer. By that time space travel should have become as commonplace as SUVs are today. We’ll just have to find another solar system, that’s all.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Methos sighed a happy sigh and let his head fall back against the Highlander’s chest, completely convinced that this was a perfect moment. It had been more than worth wading through five thousand years of periodic hell to reach it. 

The next morning, Methos opened his laptop to find that Duncan had hacked into his iTunes account…darn it, he was going to have to stop using Famous Fictional Sword Master’s names for passwords, Duncan was getting much too good at guessing them…and downloaded “Ape Man”, a 1970’s pop tune by the Kinks. Methos put on his headphones and listened to the peppy British Invasion voice of Ray Davies carol: “I’ll be your Tarzan, you’ll be my Jane/ I’ll keep you warm and you’ll keep me sane” into his ears. The sentiment made him grin a grin that might have outshone Duncan’s. Methos wasn’t in the least bit offended by being metaphorically compared to a bikini-clad starlet; it sounded like a reasonable arrangement to him. He took the headphones off, and felt his grin slowly transition into a thoughtful frown as he considered the state of the rafters. Hmmm.

Maybe a spot of house cleaning wasn’t such a bad compromise when it came to holding onto a man like that, after all.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This is an oldie. I just ran across it recently amongst my files while I was hunting for something else. From my notes at the bottom, it seems I was originally going to develop this into a much longer comic story about Methos attempting to buy and use a vacuum cleaner. But if I was (and it *does* sound like something I would do, LOL, so even though I don't remember it at all it's unlikely that aliens borrowed my body to write it) any plans for the rest have long since evaporated from my brain. Still, what I had written feels pretty complete, and I thought I’d post it as a holiday gift. Happy Thanksgiving, y’all!


End file.
